


Achilles' Ribs

by Sherylyn



Category: White Collar
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4213359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherylyn/pseuds/Sherylyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tired Neal can be very entertaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Achilles' Ribs

_A/N:_ _First, many, many thanks to[china_shop](http://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop) for alllll her wonderful beta help and suggestions (including this title!). This is seriously so much better because of her help. This is both for [Karerek13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanarek13/pseuds/Kanarek13) and also, all her fault. Also, this is my first writing of ANYthing fandom-related since stopping grad school, so a bit of fun seemed like a good way to start.  
_

_I’m including a few “hand-wavey” assumptions here, so please bear with me on the fact that (1) the baby’s name got changed to Michael/Mikey along the way; since Neal’s back, the baby’s going by his middle name now. I got the new name from china_shop’s_ [ _‘Waltz Verse_ ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/241093) _, which is awesome. And (2) it’s some point in the future, and P/E/N consider themselves married. Y’all can decide on your own how that came about, or you can assume it also somehow vaguely fits into the ‘_ [ _Waltz Verse_ ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/241093) _(but not really, b/c Neal’s back to working with Peter). Whatevs. ;-)_

~*~

Peter yawned and rubbed his eyes, then groaned as he slowly sat up in bed. He, Neal and the rest of the team had been running on very little sleep for almost a week, trying to keep up with the suspect in their latest case, and it was wearing on all of them. He and Neal had staggered home around 2 AM and collapsed into bed. Now, it was barely 7 AM, and he was alone. There were noises coming from downstairs, so he figured El and Neal must be making breakfast.

He went into the bathroom, took care of business, and thought about showering, but the aroma of coffee from downstairs made the decision for him: he wanted — no, _needed_ — coffee first today. He knew they’d have to be back in gear once they hit the office, but he wasn’t quite willing to move at that speed yet. All three of them were exhausted. On top of the case, El had been booked solid with work the last week or so, too, so El’s sister had volunteered to take Michael for a few days. None of them liked having him away from them, but then again, none of them would have managed to actually take care of him this week, either. With any luck, though, they’d be able to wrap up this case today, and actually relax this weekend before picking up Michael on Sunday.

He grabbed his bathrobe from the hook on the bathroom door, and pulled it on as he made his way down the stairs. At the bottom, he stopped dead: Neal was _giggling_. Unable to keep the sudden grin off his own face, he crept toward the kitchen, his bare feet making no noise to give him away. The laughter continued, and now he was closer, he could hear El’s giggles interspersed with Neal’s, as well as some soft jazz playing in the background.

As stealthily as he could, he peeked around the corner of the kitchen doorway, but neither his wife nor his husband were in view, even though he could still hear them, their laughter quieter now. There were measuring cups, a large bowl filled with what appeared to be pancake batter, several other food items on the countertop, and quite a bit of flour dusting the counters and floor, but no people in sight. He spotted Satchmo through the glass of the back door — dashing across the patio in pursuit of a squirrel running along the fence— which explained his absence, at least.

 Peter stuck his head further around the corner and caught a glimpse of Neal’s pajama-clad knee on the floor behind the island. Confused, he stepped into the kitchen and leaned around the island to see his spouses. They were sitting on the floor, both wearing generous amounts of flour and breathless with laughter, El’s head resting on Neal’s shoulder, his hand wrapped around her knee where it was pressed against him.

 Grinning, Peter asked, “Having fun?”

They both jumped, startled, then smiled up at him. “Very much,” El answered, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Neal opened his mouth to reply, but before he could get a word out, El danced her fingers over his ribs _just so_ , and he emitted a most definite _squeak_ as he wriggled to avoid her. Another giggle escaped him, even though Peter could see he was trying desperately not to let it out. Peter and El both burst out laughing, and it took a moment before Peter recovered enough to ask, “You’re _ticklish_?? How did I not know that?”

El stopped her assault so Neal could answer. He brushed his hair back from his eyes and sent a mock-glare at Peter. “Most of the time, I’m _not_ ,” he stated emphatically. El reached toward his bare torso again, but he grabbed both her hands and held them securely, without looking away from Peter. “But when I’m really tired and already a bit loopy from it, it happens sometimes.” He turned back to El and kissed the tip of her nose as she mock-scowled at him for holding her captive. “Or, apparently, when my wife pulls a sneak-attack on me when I’m that kind of tired.”

Peter laughed and helped them to their feet. “I’d never have guessed that the Great Neal Caffrey’s Achilles heel was being ticklish,” he teased, pulling them both into his arms.

“I’m not—” Neal protested, but Peter hushed him with a kiss, then turned to kiss El, too.

El slid an arm around Neal’s waist and squeezed him. “Truce?” she offered.

He gave her a brilliant smile and a kiss. “Truce.”

As they pulled apart, though, Peter leaned in to add, “I haven’t started yet…”

Neal’s eyes widened in alarm, and El started laughing again as she turned to the batter on the countertop and started stirring it. “Better watch out, Neal,” she teased. “He’s sort of relentless when he’s pursuing you — or so I’ve heard.”

“You _wouldn’t_!” Neal protested, backing away. Peter grinned and stepped toward him, fingers out-stretched. Neal stared for a moment, appraising him, then turned and bolted for the stairs with Peter hot on his heels.

~*~

END


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